Captured Stars
by Tomolonis
Summary: This will just be a collection of small, fluffy ficlets (some will not be fluffly) that I've been giving to people on tumblr. They will all be about different scenarios, and will probably all be one-shots. Perhaps some of them will inspire longer stories - perhaps they'll just live as tiny, captured moments. Guess I'll just have to wait and see. M for themes and language. Destiel.
1. Holiday Lights

"But Dean, I don't understand. How can an inanimate object such as a light be feminine? Sam would - "

"Shut it, Cas. I asked you to come along with me and we're going. I don't want to hear any of your snarky bullshit. Just get in the goddamned car, shut your cakehole, and wait until we get there."

The hunter was tense as he slid into the Impala, not even bothering to check if the angel had gotten into the car. He hadn't heard the door - but he knew, without a single doubt, that Cas was there. "Good," he added, jamming the keys in the ignition with a huff. It had been so long since he had celebrated Christmas. So long since he had really enjoyed anything as simple as a light display. So when he'd heard about the holiday light competition in the town they were currently hunting in, it had been a no brainer.

Of course he couldn't ask Sammy. The last time he'd asked for Christmas, Sammy only gave it to him because Dean had already booked himself a one way ticket to hell. And asking his younger brother to put aside his childhood problems surrounding the holiday just wasn't worth it.

Or maybe he was just afraid of seeing the look on Sammy's face as he told him about his desire to see goddamned Christmas lights.

That wasn't girly or anything. Nope.

Always willing to follow the hunter's orders, the angel stayed absolutely quiet in the front seat of the Impala. Castiel's eyes glowed with unanswered curiosity and confusion, but he knew Dean well enough to wager this was far more important to the hunter than he'd like it to be. Although what was so special about a bulb of electricity, Castiel couldn't -

The Impala was stopped, parked outside of dozens of houses, each glowing in unique, fantastical ways. Some houses were swimming in purples and blues, others in reds and greens - but Castiel's favorite, he decided, were the houses lined with white.

"Dean - "

"Shut it Cas. Just look." The older Winchester stepped out of the car, the door of the Impala closing with a soft click as the man in the leather jacket beamed, looking around him as though he were a child again, seeing his father for the first time in days.

And Castiel watched him, his eyes drinking in every single minute detail of the way the hunter's face scrunched up - the way Dean's eyes lightened, the green of them reflecting the brilliant display of colors in front of them. Maybe, Castiel thought then, his head tilting with a fond confusion, Dean had been afraid to let Sam see him this way. Perhaps - perhaps this was a moment the hunter had wanted to have with the angel.

"Dean?" Soft, low, Cas' voice only enhanced Dean's feelings of euphoria as the two of them walked through the light displays.

"Yeah?" And the hunter's head turned, slowly, but with a child-like excitement that had Castiel catching his breath, because he'd never seen the man this excited. He'd never seen Dean so -

So happy.

"I like Christmas lights," he breathed out, his lips - still chapped from the lack of lip balm - curved upwards, into the smallest, angelic smile.

"Yeah," Dean was chuckling, his hand moving of its own accord into Castiel's, unafraid of judgment, unafraid of rejection, because this was Cas' first Christmas Eve, and it had to be special. For both of them. "I thought you might."

Neither of them said a word more as they continued walking. They didn't talk about their physical contact, their slow pace, or about their wonder and excitement as both sets of eyes scanned over the glorious bulbs bedazzling house after house. And when the two men had been trudging on, for hours, their legs tired but their smiles still lingering, Castiel couldn't help but look over at the hunter, who was once again sitting peacefully behind the wheel of his baby. Dean's eyes were closing as he breathed in, and Castiel watched him, with the smallest tilt of the head - the tiniest exhale of a breath - as the clock struck midnight.

"Merry Christmas, Dean."


	2. Cursed or Not

"I don't understand Dean. I was only trying to- I - to-" The angel was terribly confused, his breath coming in pants as he tried to form words free of embarrassing stutters. He'd only just told Dean that it would be best for him to leave, to let him and Sam continue on the road together without any angelic interference. With him around, there would always be danger, always be something lurking in the misty shadows, ready to pounce when their guard was down.

So now, out here in the dead of winter, the angel had made it his mission to tell the hunter that he did not deserve to be out of purgatory - did not deserve to be happy. What confused him? Dean was moving so close to him, and the proximity of the human in relation to himself most certainly broke every 'personal space' rule the hunter had ever created. So Castiel continued on, trying to choke out his words, pretending Dean was not as close as he was, and making an attempt to segway quickly and professionally back to the issue at hand. "I - betrayed you - and Sam. All the devastation I caused, on earth and in Heaven. It's not right, Dean, I have to - "

But Dean's fingers were on those chapped lips, shushing them, stilling them, making absolute certain that the man whom those lips belonged to would no longer have to worry about being kicked out of his and his brother's motel room because he was 'too dangerous'. What a ridiculous notion, the hunter thought, when all three of them had known danger far longer than they'd known each other.

"I've told you once, and I'll tell you again, Cas," Dean moved his fingers, a grin spreading across his face, his green eyes lightening at the genuine surprise in Cas' blue ones.

"I'd rather have you," and his lips were so close to the angel's, teasing them, his breath warm against Castiel's face, "Cursed or not."


	3. Don't Breathe A Word

Dean Winchester could still remember the man in the trench coat. He could still remember the man who had tried his damnedest to save him and his brother, all those years ago. Heaven - it's a funny thing. Over and over, he was reliving these moments, wondering what he could have done differently so that time would not have gone by as fast. He never thought about what he did do; he never paid attention to all of his good deeds, how many times he'd saved the world, or how many times he'd poured the milk into Sammy's cereal because dad was gone.

No - Dean Winchester only thought about how sorry he felt for never telling the trench-coated man why he had taken so long to forgive him for his betrayal, for never telling him how hard it was to walk away from that burning circle of holy fire. So many glances, so many shared silences, so many unhappy thoughts. Heaven helped him relive the moments - to see them in the right light. And every once in a while, there were words in his mouth, still stuck, even after all these years, that would always be left unsaid.

But as Cas always said - they're not supposed to talk about it.


	4. Against the Rules

Sixty seven. Sixty eight. Sixty nine –

Dean's movements halted, his body shooting up from its current position on the floor. Sweat coated the hunter's face, the exertion of his workout having become more and more physically obvious. Hair stuck to his forehead, and his usually pale cheeks were tinted a vibrant red. After the push-ups, Dean had shed himself of his nearly-drenched shirt, continuing on with sit-ups – until he heard that irritatingly familiar fluttering sound.

"Cas, man, I've told you so many times to stop doing that." Dean didn't even bother to turn and look at the angel, instead returning to his sit-ups; the bastard needed to learn to use the goddamned door. Intense exercise was making the hunter short of breath – with every sit-up, Dean let out a small huff of air, not at all caring about how loud he was being anymore. The neighbors at the motel could either deal with it or switch rooms.

"My apologies, Dean, but it is a hard habit to break." Cas was close by – beside him, probably – and Dean could tell, even without halting his quick, determined movements. No, he would not give the damned angel the satisfaction of his attention – he didn't deserve it, for just fluttering in like that. 'Use the door, Cas', he'd told him, over and over – and the guy never listened. No, Dean would not give him any sort of attention at all. He was going to ignore him.

Seventy three. Seventy four. Seventy fi–

"Dean."

Green eyes flickered over towards the side, taking in Cas' appearance. The man looked legitimately sorry – and dammit to hell, the guy was using that whole 'puppy-dog' face again. His blue eyes were wide, fearful even, as if Cas thought Dean was _truly _angry with him.

Well this could be fun.

-ve. Seventy six. Seventy –

"This isn't funny, Dean. You should not have any reason to be angry. I apologized, and I meant it."

The angel was in front of him now, but Dean continued his sit-ups.

"Sorry Cas," he huffed out, sucking in his cheeks as his back hit the ground once more. "A little busy at the moment." His workout routine was strict – no pauses, no hesitation, no distractions. And Cas – with those fucking blue eyes of his – was certainly on Dean's list of 'distractions'.

"Please?" Cas' hands moved to Dean's feet, holding them down in order to help as the hunter's body raised up from the ground again.

"Why?" Dean was smiling – that cocky half-grin that he _knew_ Cas loved – and the angel looked so offended that the hunter actually second-guessed himself. "Cas – ," He grunted, pulling himself all the way up, right to the angel's face, "You need to relax, man. You know I'm joking, right?"

And just like that, Castiel's eyes lightened, and Dean's back hit the floor again, relieved. "Almost done," he choked out quickly, his pace quickening, subconsciously fighting against Cas' grip on his feet. For a while, the two men went on like this, in complete silence. The only sounds in the motel were the pants of the hunter, who was working hard to keep himself in shape. Cas, however, was never good with long silences.

"Dean?" The name was spoken so softly that the angel was unsure as to whether or not Dean would even hear it. But the raise of the eyebrow – the snarky lip curl, the slowing sit-up pace – they told Castiel that the hunter had indeed heard him, and so he pressed on. "Can I –," The angel cut himself off, looking down with a tight swallow. This should not be so hard. All he wanted was – "Dean, can I have a kiss?"

It was against the rules, he knew. It was against Dean's workout criteria. Castiel knew he shouldn't even be here, but the sight of Dean – out of breath, cheeks puffed out and red, strands of hair glued messily to his forehead – it was too much to stay away from.

The hunter was smiling again before he pulled all of his weight up off the floor, his lips so tantalizingly close to the angel's. Castiel leaned forward, ready for the familiar impact –

And then Dean's lips were gone, and his back had hit the ground, his husky laugh breaking the silence. Castiel had no time to feel hurt, however, as Dean had pulled himself back up with astonishing speed. This time, Dean's hand locked around the angel's neck, grabbing at the soft black hair, tugging it roughly as their lips touched.

It was not gentle – but it was, in Castiel's opinion – much needed. Dean didn't let it go on for very long – too soon, the hunter was pulling away, chuckling to himself.

"Such a needy angel," Dean muttered, grinning fondly at the man in front of him. "You owe me. Go pick up some pie. I'll be done by then."

The angel was gone before the last syllable escaped Dean's mouth.

"Dammit, Cas, use the door!"

But he couldn't bring himself to be angry – no, his angel never meant to be troublesome. It was just his nature. It was just what made him so _Cas. _

Finally, with no distractions, Dean could resume his workout. There wasn't much left, not too many to go –

Ninety eight. Ninety nine –

"One hundred," Castiel breathed from above him, pie in hand. "Now, Dean –," there was mischief dancing behind those blue eyes, and it most certainly did not go unnoticed. "I believe I owe you?"

Well – this could be fun.


	5. Learning in the Snow

Four days in a musty hotel, and Team Free Will was running out of food, alcohol, and patience. Dean was climbing the walls, itching to get out and check on his baby, which was covered in so much goddamned snow and ice that the hunter was certain he would have to use a fucking hairdryer to find her again. When the question of one of them venturing outside in the blizzard's aftermath came up, Dean immediately tried to volunteer. Sammy, however, beat both him and the angel to it – so Dean had slumped, dejected, against one of the motel's walls, shouting at his brother to at least pick up the pie this time.

That had been hours ago, and though Dean knew that driving through the mess of roads was bound to take a long time, he couldn't help but feel as though he would have gone _way _faster – which meant he would have had more pie and alcohol by now.

"Dean?" The soft voice from the corner startled him – Dean was already reaching for his gun, having forgotten the angel's presence in the room. Okay, he hadn't forgotten, really. He'd tried to forget.

"Yeah, Cas?" His eyes slid over to the figure in the trench coat, who still looked so fucking tired from their last hunt. His power still wasn't fully back – which was why, Cas had told him a bit earlier, he couldn't just feather their asses out of here.

"Can we go outside?" There was hope in that gravelly voice – wonder in those eyes, and this is _exactly _what Dean had been trying to avoid. The hunter was swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, forcing himself to look away from the man across the room.

"Cas, it's cold. You'll freeze, man, you don't even have a real jacket."

"I'll be fine, Dean." Goddammit, Cas was already in front of his face, and Dean knew he wasn't going to win this battle. Mostly because he knew there was no way in hell he was going to tell the angel no. He never could.

"Fine, fine – yeah. Okay – oh fuck, let's see –". Dean stood, already at Sam's duffel bag, pulling out every article of warm clothing that Sammy owned. "Here – put these on." He'd gathered quite a bit of warm articles for the angel – red mittens, a red hat to match, and a black winter coat. Without even glancing at Cas, he thrusted the clothing into the angel's chest, moving to gather his own winter gear. Black gloves and boots. It was all he'd ever really needed, especially since he wasn't exactly _fond _of the cold. Usually he steered away from it. Grunting, the hunter sat on his bed and pulled on his boots, tying them neatly before forcing his hands into the fabric of the gloves. Alright, now that he was all geared up, they could –

"Okay, I'm ready Dean." Blue eyes were looking down at him, so expectantly, and it was getting way too fucking hard to breathe with the angel so close. Personal space, he'd told Cas, over and over – but that request had been shot to hell so many times that there was no point wasting his breath to repeat himself. The guy looked so small – so little. It was like being with a freaking' kid on Christmas.

"Why aren't you wearing the jacket?" Fuck, why did he say that? He meant to say, 'chill the fuck out man, it's just snow'. But the concerned words had come to him first, and _that _was troublesome.

"I like my trench coat," was Cas' simple reply. Goddamit, the guy was always so straightforward, and this was all getting to Dean's head.

"Ri-right. Right, okay." When the hell had his breathing picked up? And why did he feel so hot, even though they were opening the door and stepping out into the cold?

Cas closed the door behind them, but Dean had stopped dead on the steps. A thick layer of white blanketed the area, fresh, untouched – waiting for some kids to come along and play in it. Waiting for an adventure to imprint itself into the fallen flakes. Dean wanted to say something, but dammit, all he could do was turn to the man beside him, and his breath actually caught –

He was so goddamned young looking. And not in that weird ass pedophile way – but the innocence, the wonder, the excitement – it felt like a punch to Dean's gut, and it was the most enjoyable feeling because he wanted to see _more _of that face –

"Cas, c'mere." And Dean's hand slipped into the other man's, pulling him along like he was a kid himself. "We can make a snowman." The hunter was grinning now, so wide that Castiel would be hard pressed to recall another smile like it.

"Dean, what is a 'snowman'? Surely we are not going to make a real 'man' in the –"

"Shut up, Cas. Just watch." Dean's hands buried themselves into the snow, carving a great deal of it into a ball, rolling it in more snow until it grew so large that he worried as to whether or not he would be able to stack the other two on.

Cas was a fast learner – he rolled the midsection while Dean worked on the head. And when the three snowballs were stacked one on top of the other, Dean found himself next to the angel again.

"You like it?" The hunter turned, eager to see the pleasure on the angel's face while he looked at their enormous creation – but he was thrown, because Cas wasn't looking at the damned snowman, he –

"I do like it." Castiel whispered, the blue orbs of his face bright as ever, filled with an emotion neither of them could explain, because it was so new, so different –

The angel was looking straight at Dean.

"Thank you, Dean." And the angel meant it, from the bottom of his heart, because he learned a little bit more about being human today. He learned how to hold someone's hand, how to make a snowman, how to make Dean look at him in a way that made him feel terrified –

"Cas."

– how to feel another pair of lips against his, and not think of it as blasphemy, because it was so wonderful and new and tasted like whiskey and chocolate crème pie –

"_Cas,_"

– how to fall in love with Dean Winchester all over again –

"Fucking _angels,_" Dean was laughing, into Castiel's eagerly responsive mouth, pulling him closer, holding him tighter –

– and Dean learned how to love him back.


	6. Not Like This

**_Warning - this drabble is not at all fluffy. I just thought it would help give this collection a bit of depth. You've been warned._**

* * *

Dean can feel the blood rising into his throat before it finally drips onto the table. He's holding in the coughs this time, afraid to wake up Sammy, who's sleeping peacefully for the first time in a long while right across the hall. The pain is so much worse than usual; what always started out as a dull ache had turned into a fierce, shooting burst of agony.

The disease worked a lot faster than Dean thought was even possible - the medication, for whatever reason, had stopped working, and the hunter hadn't been able to tell Sammy. For weeks, everything had been getting worse and worse, until Dean now found himself hunched over the table in the motel, trying his damnedest to take care of the entire mess.

No noise. No sudden movements. Just quick breaths and silent prayers.

_Cas,_ even inside his own head, Dean's strength was fading fast, _Please._

The angel had been missing for weeks - had vanished into thin air after the Samandriel incident_._ But Sam and Dean never stopped looking. Not even with all this silly crap having to do with TB.

Through all the medication, through all the visits to the hospital, Dean had never truly believed that he would go out like this.

"Please," the hunter was coughing now, the pain forcing his eyes to scrunch, the crinkles of his forehead deepening from the exertion.

"Not until I know you're okay."

For a long few moments, there was no answer. The blood kept pooling on the table, and Dean's green eyes started to close. He was seeing stars, seeing bright white bursts of light, and he wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or not. Cas' voice is what he heard, as his body started to slump, the hunter's throat burning like fire.

_It's going to be okay, Dean. _

More blood, more stars, more bursts of white light.

_I'm sorry for letting you get this bad - I didn't know, and that's no excuse. I'm sorry._

Cas, Dean wanted to speak, but his limbs wouldn't move. Dean wanted to tell him that he never stopped looking for him - that he was his best friend - his angel.

_I'll take you home._


	7. Wavering Reality

They're not just dreams anymore.

Cas is almost tangible now, so close that Dean is willing to bet anything that the angel is actually around.

At first, Dean thinks he's crazy, or that some son of a bitch monster has messed with his head again. Either way, the hunter can chalk it up as if he's just seeing things. It's normal to see your best friend after he's just died, right? It's completely normal to see him around and wish he was back. It was natural. That's what Dean told himself, over and over, ignoring how often Cas' face was looking back at him in the rearview mirror of the Impala. Ignoring how many times he woke up to the angel's breath on his face, always accompanied by the phantom pressure of fingers pressed into his skin.

Each time was the same – in the Impala Dean would do a double take, his head arching back as far as it could while narrowly avoiding accidents; and by the time it was safe to look back for Cas again, the figure was always gone. Gone, just like in the mornings, when the image of the angel was seared into him so completely that it had to be impossible for Cas to not be real. The sensations, the whispers – they couldn't be fake, or all in Dean's own head.

Could they?

It was not unheard of – grief driving the hunter mad, past the point ofany sanity left holding him together. With Sammy around, however, things were a little more complicated. Dean just couldn't go for random drives and take more naps. He couldn't disappear and leave his little brother alone to wonder what in the _hell _was wrong with Dean.

What had started out as dreams had become reality, seeping into everything Dean was familiar with. Beer, women, driving, gambling; everything circled back to Cas, to the fact that he had let his best friend down. Each swig of amber liquid did nothing to dissuade Cas' figure, but instead increased the number of choked up apologies he made to the darkened sky each and every night. Every time he got the chance, Dean would pray to Castiel, asking him if he was still alive. He would pray for Sammy's continued health, would pray for someone – anyone – to bring Cas back to him.

He was seeing him, and it would never stop.

"Cas–"

It was one of those nights where he felt Cas close to him, a comforting warmth that vanished without warning more times than Dean could count.

"Please?"

Arms around his shoulders, holding Dean so tight that he would be content to stay in place for the rest of his days. This embrace was secure – so unbelievably loving –

And yet it wasn't real.

"Please," Dean was breathing out as the feeling of Cas wrapped around him vanished as soon as it had come. Sammy was behind him now, that soft voice breaking through any illusion Dean must have been witnessing.

"Dean, are you alright?"

A breath – more amber liquid, burning its way down his throat, scorching it until there was no feeling anymore.

A hand slipping into the hunter's, squeezing as he drank more liquor, the breath on Dean's neck so real this couldn't just be in Dean's head.

"Sammy," Dean was whispering, his eyes glazing over with the sight of Cas letting go. "I'm seeing him."

Could it?


End file.
